Thick Skin
by Nightwitch87
Summary: Liv and Barba have coffee. Literally. I suck at summaries. Featuring "Elastic Heart" by Sia.


_Author's Note:__ A little something different this time! You will notice the curious lack of nauseating Bensidy romance. This is also fairly harmless compared to some…stuff. Just a fun one-shot with some lyrics thrown in, because that was really just waiting to happen. (Mostly because the dorm where I live often doesn't have power and there's no internet that would enable you to watch TV, so you know, I'm on SVU withdrawal and have a lot of evenings with a lot of spare time. ;) ) Credit for the song lyrics goes to the amazing Sia's "Elastic Heart". Go listen to it. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and to everyone who I have never thanked for their review in person because they registered as guests: An extra special thank you so much for all your encouragement. It's really motivating. I also exist in the real world, aka on Twitter Nightwitch87. Come say hi. _

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**Thick Skin  
**

_I'll walk through fire to save my life_

"She is not a credible witness, Liv, you _know_ that." He says it like she's a petulant child, and he is trying to trick her into agreeing with him by appealing to her maturity.

"She's telling the truth! We got you the evidence, what more do you want?"

"What more do I want? Oh, I don't know, maybe _one_ truth would be good. Corinne changed her story three times."

She wishes he would stop walking in front of her and listen, just open that closed mind for one moment and pay attention. But he is a lawyer, and things exist in black and white to him. His brain works in letters and figures. Either this is legally a case, or it isn't and then it's none of their concern. "Because she was scared to testify against her friends after being intimidated by them. She's 16 years old, when have we ever had a vulnerable witness who just gave us the full story right away?"

"And you know how these cases usually go. I put her on the stand, the defence points out the inconsistencies in her story and confuses her, they make her out to be a liar, the whole case suddenly rests on the victim's statement alone, we lose. Or she changes her story again or withdraws and I drop my case. Worst case scenario, the defence spins a convincing narrative about how the police pressured her into testifying, the case is dropped and there is a backlash on you" he explains without any audible punctuation. From the lightning speed of his words –he is a fast talker, she'll give him that- it's obvious that he already has the whole thing mapped out in his head complete with a decision tree, which means he has at least considered charging the boys. He wants to charge them. She has a window here. "Which angle am I missing here?"

"The cyberbullying, the immediacy of the outcry. And I think you're underestimating Eva." She may not be a lawyer, but she knows that juries are generally sympathetic to young, pretty white girls from affluent neighbourhoods. She has a hard time herself getting the girl's horror at the rape kit exam out of her head, the way her lips were pressed tightly together, her difficulties in describing what had happened to her. "Her story has been consistent from the start."

"Except that she was sexting one of your perps the week before."

"She had semen from four different boys on her shirt and chest!" She has a short moment of absurdity where she is watching this scene from the outside, walking along a busy street talking about semen. Just a regular morning at SVU. Sometimes, she wonders if this stuff is so "business as usual" to her that she doesn't have a normal, human response to it anymore. That would be the time to quit.

"That could have been consensual."

"Really…?" She stops in her tracks, her arms outstretched at her side. She hates this devil's advocate thing that he does, although it's what makes him good at his job.

"Olivia" he turns around, giving her an exasperated look. He likes to use her name; it's the salesman technique. "What I believe is immaterial. We are not going to court with a case that depends on the mood the jury is in that day. Now I have a lot of other cases on my desk, so unless you have a new piece of information here besides your moral outrage-"

"What if I get you evidence of witness intimidation?" This one is a long shot, a slam of her foot in the door because she doesn't actually have any such evidence. These kids were incredibly smart, and their texts, Whatsapp, facebook messages came out squeaky clean, if slightly incoherent. It's completely atypical for teenagers and the most disturbing, the most convincing piece of evidence she has that these creeps knew what they were doing.

He keeps his pokerface on, but she senses a shift in the atmosphere nonetheless. "Actual evidence?"

"Yes." There must be something, somewhere, they just haven't found it yet. She will put Carisi and Amanda on it again, because between his eagerness and her love for detail, they will come up with something. She shouldn't be allocating any more resources to this case, but she has to, and if they get it to trial, then the resources she has already allocated to it will have been justified, right? Then this won't be one more failed case in her department. There is no way some kid didn't make a sick joke about it somewhere in writing, didn't live video blog about it or whatever other things kids do these days. She doesn't even want to think about what it will be like by the time Noah reaches that age.

_You did not break me  
I'm still fighting for peace_

Barba chews on the promise of hard facts, trying to be impartial yet struggling to say no to her. He resents not being able to follow through on something once he has invested time and energy into it. "Get me the evidence and we'll talk, not before. Actual evidence of contact with Corinne, Liv, not rapey jokes or obscenities. Don't waste my time."

"Got it." She resents that he makes it sound like she usually throws him pieces of unfiltered trash, but she lets it slide this time. Twenty years of experience have steeled her against snide remarks. This is a small victory.

_Now another one bites the dust_

"Now…" He glances at his flashy watch, then at the sign of the java place they are passing, even though he knows it as it's right around the corner from his office. "I have 23 minutes before I have to be inside. Do you want to grab some coffee?"

She is slightly surprised at the suggestion. They don't usually do this sort of thing, and she has never pictured him actually stopping somewhere long enough to grab anything. Not once has she surprised him with a sandwich in hand at lunchtime. If there's one thing this man doesn't need in his system, it's coffee. "Uh, sure."

He opens the door, and as the warm air hits her face, she is grateful for the momentary refuge. This place is cozy, and the queue has died down since people have started heading into work or taking up all the tables. She could do with some caffeine after the night she's had.

"I'll have a small coffee, black, please." She fumbles some change out of her wallet to pay in exact cash.

"A large latte with an extra shot of espresso and soy milk, please."

She can't help smirking at his five Dollar concoction. "You know how they say if you put the money you would spend on Starbucks into a jar every day, by the end of the year you'll-"

"I'd have a jar of small bills of cash, yes. I don't want a jar of money. I want coffee." They move up to the second queue for the drinks. He watches her struggling with the zipper of the change compartment of her wallet. "NYPD not paying well?"

"NYPD pays fine" she assures him quickly, because he looks like he's about to do something stupidly chivalrous like trying to pay for her coffee, and she really, really doesn't need that from the guy in the Armani suit. She is not that desperate. "Living in this city with a kid, on the other hand…"

She almost wishes she could tell him, or someone, about the fact that Noah is getting bigger and he still doesn't have his own bedroom. The living room is basically his room in the hermit existence she leads, but his caseworker doesn't seem too excited about that particular arrangement and it is slightly impractical. In her mind, she has this image of the bedroom she would like to decorate for him, but she can't afford to move, certainly not to a larger apartment, she doesn't have the time to organize a move, and finally, she doesn't want to move. She never expected to move again so soon; this wasn't supposed to be a transition home. The past couple of years have been incredibly unsettled and filled with therapy bills, furniture bills and realtor bills, despite the sizeable guilt payment from the NYPD she doesn't like to touch ("oops, sorry you got hurt on the job, please don't sue"). She still owes Brian money for the sofa, come to think of it, although he probably wouldn't overflow with joy at a cash transfer from her after almost a year. But after all this, she is finally settled somewhere, she and Noah are in a comfortable rhythm, so moving is out of the question. She almost wishes she could talk to Barba about that, because there is something reassuring about his rational demeanour that makes you feel like he can work through any logical problem. But that would be unprofessional.

_I've got thick skin and an elastic heart  
But your blade it might be too sharp_

They squeeze in at the counter because there are no available seats at this hour, and she unbuttons her coat because it is getting too hot. The place is so cramped that the windows have actually started steaming up around the edges. They chat about work for a little while, about how things are going at the DA's office and how the pressure to convict is ever increasing, about One P-P and balancing what is just with what is feasible, the burden of command.

"So how's the kid?" Barba asks at some point, right as she thinks that it's about time to get going.

"He's fine, he…he had a rough start so his health isn't…as good as you might hope. But he's okay. He's a tough little guy." And she is worried sick about every little thing that goes wrong. He isn't speaking as many words as is the standard for his age category, his development might have been impaired by the unfavourable early environment, and what about the long-term impact of his asthma, and is he growing up "normal" without a father around and without siblings or other kids to play with outside the group she takes him to? These things are constantly on her mind, along with angsty thoughts about her own mortality. Still, "what will happen to Noah when I die?" doesn't seem like the kind of question she can ask a colleague over morning coffee.

"He has made it through a lot. So no doubt he'll thrive under your care."

She tries to smile a grateful little smile, clutching her mug of coffee. "Hopefully."

_And I want it, I want my life so bad  
I'm doing everything I can_

"Are you going to go ahead with the adoption?"

"Yes, as soon as I can. You know, I can't imagine…it's only been a few months, but I can't imagine the alternative." She says it with as little sentiment as she can manage, swallowing the lump in her throat. "He's my son."

"It would make no sense to remove him from your care now" he states matter-of-factly. "No sense to keep the state paying for his care, either. There is no reason why they shouldn't let you adopt."

This time, she actually is grateful, because she knows he isn't just saying it. He would never provide false reassurances or a distorted picture of the facts. If there is one thing she can count on from him, it's honesty – sometimes brutally so, but never feigned. "You never know, things hardly seem to go according to plan."

He studies her with a quizzical look like he's weighing up evidence. "You have good lawyer, just in case?"

"Yes, the best."

"Good. That never hurts."

She smiles wrily. "So how are things with you and…" Your dog? Your boat? "…everything?"

"Me?" He actually looks a little surprised at the question himself. "Oh, you know, I keep busy. We are looking at real estate."

"We?" She tries not to sound like a curious gossiper, but her interest has been piqued. There is a "we". He generally likes to keep his personal life private, with good reason.

"Lauren and I."

Somehow, it makes her happy for him that there is a Lauren in his life. No doubt she is smart and confident, able to keep up with him. She imagines him going home to her, and if they ever buy a house together, she can picture it having a porch they can sit on. She suspects him of being an entirely different person at home, during that precious time when he is at home, where him and this Lauren talk about watersports or whatever else they are interested in. It's a separate world from this. It's healthy.

_I may snap and I move fast  
But you won't see me fall apart_

"Liv? Why are you smirking?"

"I'm not- I just think it's nice." She composes her features into a neutral, court-like expression.

"Yeah. Well. She works on Wall Street, so we might never get around to actually buying a place." He empties the last of his latte down his throat – fast at that, too, fast as usual.

"How long have you been seeing her?"

"A year, a year-and-a-half, somewhere in there" he says vaguely as if he doesn't know the exact date.

How very short to be buying a place together. She creates a timeline in her head. This means he was already seeing her around the time of the Lewis trial and trial prep. She tries to find clues, anything about his demeanour that might have been different from before, but she has been so busy with other things that she hasn't really noticed anything apart from his obvious disgruntlement at being called on weekends. "That's great."

"I'd appreciate it if this didn't make the rounds."

"Of course not." Does he expect her to run into work all giddy, telling Nick the scandalous news that their ADA has a personal life?

"So are you seeing anyone?"

"Me?" She almost laughs. "When would I have time for that? I'm up to my ears in work and dirty diapers."

"Sounds appealing."

She has never felt so unromantic in her entire life. Dating has been the furthest thing from her mind these past few months, and although she, of course, has this idealised, fuzzy golden family picture in her head with Noah and her and a vague third person, she probably wouldn't notice any half-decent man right now if he came knocking at her door. She isn't quite ready to give him a concrete face. That picture book story doesn't seem any truer than it ever has. She doesn't need any more drama right now. She needs to figure out her stuff and count her blessings. It's fine that it's just Noah and her for now, and if it stays like that, then that would be okay, too, although she sometimes wishes someone would share her joy and sorrow. But she can do this. "I'm good. Happy."

_And I might have thought that we were one  
Wanted to fight this war without weapons_

He gives her that look again, neutral and clear-eyed, so she can't quite tell what goes on underneath. "Good."

Her phone buzzes, and she can see Carisi's name flashing across the display, because that's all she has him saved as: Carisi, group: Work. "And that's me heading out."

Barba nods, getting up from his chair and glancing at his watch again as she picks up the phone, ready to hear about whatever unpleasant news the rookie got stuck with now, or whatever perky theories he has come up with. It's time to get to work.

"Hard evidence" Barba mouthes at her, before turning to leave.

_And I want it, I want my life so bad_


End file.
